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“How can you continue to flirt with this?” Rory asks me. “You know the kinds of things that are out there, and you’re not the least bit worried that one of them is taking an interest in you?”
I invited Rory to come hang out, and I immediately regretted it. It wasn’t because her first reaction was to start cleaning the place and doing laundry, all while critiquing my living habits… wasn’t even because she insisted that I have a better future than toiling away at the bar with her, in spite of the fact that she can literally bend the universe to her will.
It’s because as soon as she saw the elaborate flower bouquets, the trinkets, and all of the baubles that my suitor left for me, she became immensely concerned. It’s like I brought my mom back into my life, before she turned mean.
“It’s really no big deal,” I reassure her, trying to calm her down. “Why’s it so hard to believe there’s a guy out there that really likes me?”
She’s been overburdensome in her coddling of me. I can feel my necklace seething with anger. I know it’s probably my imagination, but sometimes I think it has a mind of its own.
Rory walks over to me and grabs my necklace. I try with everything in me to pry her hand away.
“You think ‘it’s no big deal,’” Rory says. “This thing is all kinds of bad juju.”
“But you told me it was protective magic!”
I finally manage to knock her hand away from the necklace.
“Abjurative, yeah,” she says. “It doesn't mean it’s safe. Abjurative relics still aren’t immune to curses.”
She looks back at me in disbelief.
“You mean you honestly don’t feel bad vibes with this thing?” She asks. “It’s practically screaming at me.”
“I think you’re just being paranoid, as usual…” I mumble to myself.
“Oh? You think I’m being paranoid?” She asks me. “Well, allow me to show myself the door then.”
“No,” I insist, as she makes her way out of my apartment. “Look, I get that you’re concerned, but I just wanted to hang out. Can we not fight about this?”
“I still think you should go to the police about this,” Rory says. “Women have been killed in situations that aren’t as weird, and those involved regular humans.”
“We still don’t have any idea what I’m dealing with,” I say. “It could just be some dude at the bar, who likes antiques. Maybe he’s old-fashioned.”
She stares at my face for signs of seriousness, to see whether or not I’m joking.
“I know you’re not that dumb.”
“Well, gee,” I say. “You sure seem to think so, don’t you?”
She stares daggers into me, and I catch her looking at the front door again.
“Can we just watch Survival Island?” I ask. “I want to find out whether John lives or not.”
Survival Island was the latest network hit, built around the premise of a reality TV show where the competitors actually kill each other. Ever since the FCC dissolved, the regulations around television had gotten less and less stringent. This was just everything people already liked about reality TV turned up to eleven.
But there were still plenty of reasons to think the show was only scripted. Actors were still seemingly spotted out in the real world, despite having died episodes earlier. And other governmental organizations still weren’t crashing down on it to stop production.
It was still fascinating television though.
“So you’re really not going to come forward then?” Rory asks, grabbing a handful of popcorn and shoving it into her face. “Because if you’re worried they won’t believe you, I can do all kinds of things.”
“Like what?” I ask, out of curiosity.
“Forensic magic, for starters,” she says, taking another mouthful of popcorn. “It’s kind of a new, developing thing, but I’m able to tap into the memory of objects… figure out where they’ve been, what their story is.”
“That sounds pretty cool,” I admit.
